


The Could Have Beens

by Remsyk



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depression, Espionage, F/F, Functional Dystopia, M/M, Misdirection, Secrets, Subterfuge, resistance movement
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-19 17:38:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13128516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remsyk/pseuds/Remsyk
Summary: In the years since the end of the war, the Earth Sphere has struggled to come to terms with OZ's victory, giving rise to an underground movement whose sole purpose is to correct the course of history. The stage is set, the pieces in place; all they need is their final member.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost, I want to thank ChronicWhimsy for beta reading, and having all the patience in the world while I piece this together. 
> 
> All tags will be updated as this progresses, so don't be discouraged if you don't see something/someone immediately.

Every day was mindless. Wake up, get dressed, shave, brush teeth, grab breakfast, walk to work to do… something productive, then repeat in reverse order.

Every day was meaningless, another moment to exist without living.

Not like Before.

Time was measured like a turning century, split between now, and everything that came Before.

Before the disastrous final battle, before the humiliating surrender, before the desperate scramble to disappear, before the hand of the enemy closed around them.

There were some days that were simply too much. The knowledge of what he had done, the body count, bases destroyed, scars amassed, near death experiences, coupled with the knowledge of what could have been fell over him like a physical weight. Those were the days he couldn’t move, couldn’t gather the strength to even roll out of bed to the floor. 

Experience gave him the burst of energy required to either call his psychiatrist, or, on the really bad days, simply text “I can’t”.

She was a godsend, the closest thing to an angel he would ever meet. Two words, and he was cleared from work, free from responsibilities, allowed to wallow in his misery, regrets, and the endless spiral of what might have beens, until the shadows lengthened against his blank walls.

On his bad days, she would call in the evenings, asking simple questions about his day.

“Did you eat?”

“Did you change your clothes?”

“Did you read a book?”

On his worst days, she again would call, but she would only ask one question, though the topic changed each time.

“Did you wash your face today? Can you do that now? Put me on speaker. You can hang up when you’re done.”

He was lucky to have her, to have picked this particular job, the company toting a proud reputation of hiring soldiers fresh from the war.

The first day he missed, there were no calls, no badgering from his supervisor or manager. The next day, they only asked a simple question: Did you fight for the colonies or OZ?

His silence had been answer enough, and within a week, he had his first session with Anise.

Today was okay.

His routine didn’t waver, his breakfast the same meal, his departure exact to the minute. He descended the stairs of his apartment building, a drab, plain brick block with uniform windows.

He stepped onto the sidewalk, ignoring the milling patrons as easily as they ignored him. By now, his routine was timed, placing him on the street corners just as the signs to walk blinked on, allowing for an unhindered march to another day at work.

“Oi! Hey!”

He ignored the yells; people didn’t usually make much noise in the mornings, or evenings, or anytime, to be honest. Yelling meant attention, and the last thing anyone wanted was attention; there was always a chance that they would notice.

“Hey! I know you!”

He pressed on, certain the voice wasn’t meant for him. A hand suddenly grabbed his shoulder, awakening long dormant reactions, igniting his system in a way he had forgotten.

A young man released him quickly, stepping back as he whirled on him, arm raised in an aborted grab.

“No need to get jumpy,” the man said, hands raised in mock surrender as he grinned at him. “Do you remember me? Alex? From College Lit?”

He was certain he had never seen the man in his life. His dark brown hair was combed in a side part and slicked back with gel. His beard and mustache were carefully cut and groomed, most likely styled as well. The ensemble was complete with a tan sports jacket over a navy button shirt and dark jeans.

He looked every bit like an English professor, if a bit young, but who was he to judge?

“I’m sorry, you must be mistaken.”

He turned to leave, but the man, Alex, stepped around him, blocking his path.

“No, I’m sure it’s you. Conrad, right?”

He glanced around quickly, eager to end the pointless conversation. The pair were earning sideways looks from others in the streets, the picture of two men conversing in the streets almost as rare as a smile.

“Yeah, sure, I remember,” he said absently, his tight control slipping as anxiety and paranoia clawed against his chest. Attention meant questions, meant more eyes on him.

It meant they were watching.

“I knew it! How have you been?” 

Alex threw his arms wide, then pulled him into a crushing hug. “Follow my lead, they’re watching.”

He blinked as Alex pulled away, disbelief and confusion warring against his anxiety. The whispered warning had been quick, a stark contrast to his outward appearance and mannerisms.

He wasn’t sure which one to trust.

“Good,” he finally answered, the details of the warning sinking in. “And you?”

“Ah, can’t complain. Been doing pretty well in the wife department though.” Alex laughed, and he chuckled as well, trying to match the performance despite his mounting tension.

“But let me tell you,” Alex leaned in, his face a mask of exaggerated humor. He leaned in to meet him, turning his face away slightly to listen.

“The woman at the corner will be robbed. Stop the thief, return the purse, claim your reward.”

He jerked away, gaping at the man. A flash of panic crossed Alex’s face just as he spoke. “You’re joking. She did that?”

Relief replaced Alex’s tension, and he threw his head back and laughed. “Honest to God, every word.”

He shook his head in mock disbelief, just as Alex glanced at his watch. 

“Shoot, I gotta run. It was great catching up with you!”

“Same to you.” He waved as Alex stepped past him, leaving him to drown in endless waves of questions. The instructions had been short, to the point, explaining a series of events that were going to happen on his route, just as he walked by at the exact moment. 

Someone knew his routine.

He squashed his immediate fears. Any number of people knew his routine, at the very least his path. Consistency kept him grounded, kept him from thinking too hard.

A scream shattered his thoughts.

He looked up in time to see a young man grab a woman’s purse, snatching it viciously as he ran down the sidewalk, stunned onlookers parting on instinct as he passed.

He only had a second to choose: follow the sheep, or answer the call.

He planted his feet, raising his arm, bracing as he swung at the thief, clothes lining him with enough force to knock him off his feet. As the young man - boy really - lay stunned, he grabbed up the purse, stepping over him towards the woman on the corner. 

She was watching with wide eyes, hands pressed over her mouth. He walked sedately to her, ignoring the stares of onlookers, well aware that he had drawn attention to himself twice in the same morning.

“Ma’am,” he said, holding the purse out to her.

“Thank you so much! You really didn’t need to do that.” He got the feeling they both knew that he did.

“Let me give you something for your trouble.”

He waited patiently as she dug around in her purse, glancing over his shoulder to watch for the perp. The boy was already up and gone, no doubt vanished into the maze of alleys and streets.

“Here you are.”

He stared at the credits, surprised by her generosity. “That’s too much,” he said weakly.

“Nonsense,” she scolded. “It’s what I believe you deserve.”

He met her eyes then, sensing the conviction behind her words, the hidden meaning she couldn’t vocalize, yet fully believed.

“Thank you,” he answered, doing his best to match her tone as he accepted the reward.

She smiled kindly to him, patting his hands as they clutched the money. “It’s up to you now, what you decide to do with it.”

She turned and walked away, vanishing into the crowds. He remained, rooted in place, a new weight leaving him breathless, his mind racing with possibilities. He moved to fold the credits away in his pocket, but an unexpected barrier prevented the simple action. A quick glance revealed a sliver of white paper.

In a blink, his mind cleared, zeroing in on that single detail. Decision made, he turned and returned to his apartment, locking the doors and windows, pulling the curtains against the artificial morning light.

His space secured, he laid out the credits on the table, fanning the few bills out. Pressed between the pages was piece of cardstock, one he was intimately familiar with, despite his lack of travel in recent years.

He started at the paper, the mundane item causing more intense critical thinking than he had done at work in the years he had been employed.

The man on the street, Alex, had been no coincidence. The fake conversation that followed had been staged to cover his true motives. The same was true for the robbery, the placement of the woman and thief along his route. Had he been unimpeded, he would have passed that point too early, missing the performance.

He grabbed his phone, pressing the only number he had on speed dial.

She answered after the first ring. “I wasn’t expecting a call from you this late. Is everything okay?”

“I’m going on a trip.”

Faint rustling came over the speaker; he could almost picture her leaning back in her office chair.

“Any particular reason?”

He hesitated, unsure of what to tell her. This was dangerous territory; the less people who knew details, the better for them and him.

“The timing felt right.”

She hummed, no doubt making a note in his file.

“How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, his conscious easing slightly.

“Will you keep in touch? You know you can call me anytime you need me.”

“I will, I remember.”

“Good,” she said. “Where are you going?”

He glanced at the table and picked up the one-way shuttle ticket, passage for one, departing this evening.

“Earth.”


	2. The Time Between

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special Thanks again to the lovely ChronicWhimsy for being an amazing beta, no matter what she may say <3

Heero walked slowly towards the gate, his ticket clutched in his hand. He forced himself to take even steps, to portray a sense of ease and confidence. Inside, however, his mind raced, his heart pounded against the confines of his chest. Every sense was on high alert, every muscle ready for action in a second’s notice.

He approached the counter, handing over his ticket to the waiting attendant. She smiled pleasantly at him as she scanned the document, breaking eye contact to skim over the generated information.

“Thank you for flying with us, Mr. Wells,” she chirped, handing him the ticket. “Welcome aboard.”

Heero forced a small smile in return. “Thank you.”

He resumed his steady gait to the door, hyperaware of his surroundings. He wasn’t clear yet.

“Sir!”

Heero froze, his heart leaping into his throat as his stomach lurched. He turned back to the attendant, his mask of polite confusion firmly in place.

“Would you like us to check your bag for you?”

Heero tightened his grip on the small suitcase, keeping his movements minute and restrained. “That is not necessary,” he answered in what he hoped was a friendly tone. “Thank you for asking.” 

He waited on bated breath as she nodded and smiled in return. “You’re welcome! Enjoy the flight.”

Heero nodded and resumed his progress down the hall to the shuttle. He took the time to focus his breathing, calming his rapidly fraying nerves. He still didn’t know why he was here, why he accepted the offered ticket, why he listened to the cryptic messages sent by equally mysterious strangers.

He stepped onto the shuttle, half expecting to be jumped at any moment. Instead, the flight attendant smiled lightly at him. “Do you need help finding your seat?”

“No, thank you,” Heero mumbled, passing her quickly. He easily found his seat and sat down. 

He couldn’t relax until the shuttle departed; only then was he safe, relatively speaking.

A young girl with bright pink hair sat beside him, her pixie cut haphazardly spiked. She had barely settled in her seat before she turned to him.

“Ever been to Earth before?” 

Heero grunted in response, hoping she would get the hint and leave him alone.

“Have any place in mind?”

The simple question gave him pause. The ticket only brought him as far as the space port. He had no plans for his next step.

“While you’re dirtside, you should check out this awesome little café called The Underground,” she continued, unperturbed by his silent treatment. 

He glanced up at her quickly, one word sticking out like a beacon against the meaningless prattle. She watched him in return, her intense stare at odds with her airy conversation.

“I’ll do that,” Heero replied slowly. “I don’t often go dirtside anymore.”

A slight smile quirked her lips before she replied. “Excellent! Honestly, you’ll love it.”

Heero nodded, playing along. “Thank you for the suggestion.”

“No problem. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna catch some Z’s.”

Heero watched her settle into her seat and close her eyes. He couldn’t imagine falling asleep now, not when there was a multi-million credit bounty on his head. Not when there were less substantial, but no less frightening bounties out for anyone linked to the Resistance.

He looked away, staring into the black void of space. They were in the same boat, but she somehow found the resolve to sleep.

“Attention passengers,”

The tinny echo of the onboard speakers cut across the muffled hum of the idling engines. Heero grit his teeth as he tensed, expecting the worst.

“If everyone could please stow their luggage in the designated area, and bring their chairs to the upright and locked position. We will be departing shortly; the outer door has been closed and sealed.”

“You’re going to need a massage by the time we land.”

Heero glanced sharply at the girl, who watched him with one open eye.

“It’s okay to be tense on your first space flight,” she continued pointedly, her eyes darting between his face to the window behind his head. 

He followed her gaze, and caught a glimpse of the reflection of an approaching flight attendant.

“Any tips on relaxing?” Heero looked back at her, nodding slightly.

She returned the gesture, answering just as the attendant passed them. “Listening to music usually helps me.”

Heero frowned. “I didn’t bring anything to listen to.”

“No worries, I have you covered.” She reached between her legs to her bag, pulling out a small media player with earphones already plugged in. “Just hit play once we get moving,” she said, handing it over.

Heero nodded and accepted the small device.

“Greetings, passengers, this is your captain speaking. Conditions on Earth are clear and sunny, making an easy flight. We are slated to arrive on time-“

Heero tuned out the rest of the speech and the following safety brief. Immediately after the attendants sat down, the distinctive hiss of the locks decompressing filling the cabin, followed by a loud bang, metal striking metal as the magnetized hooks released the ship. 

He sighed, exhaling slowly as the shuttled pulled away from the colony.

He made it. He actually made it onto a shuttle, a feat he had long given up on, and was returning to Earth. It was far different from his fateful descent to the planet, but the reasons remained the same.

He may not have a Gundam this time, but that didn’t mean he was useless. The idea of joining the Resistance was tempting, had always been oh so tempting, but there were too many variables, too much unknown. 

In the end, the Resistance found him, removing his choice in the matter. Now, he found himself resenting their intervention.

Heero inspected the tiny device, flipping it over in his hands. The outside was seamless, no signs of tampering. He tapped the screen, bringing the interface to life. The preloaded song list populated the screen. He scrolled through the list, but nothing stood out as unusual or suspicious. He didn’t recognize any of the artists or songs, but he was so out of touch with the music scene, he wasn’t surprised.

He navigated through the various menus, but again came up empty.

It was just a music player. The simple fact set Heero on edge.

Nothing was simple when it came to the Resistance. After a final moment of hesitation, Heero put in the earbuds and pressed play.

The opening riffs of a piano and guitar duet began, the melody slow and soothing. It was not quite what he had been expecting, but the song was pleasant. 

At exactly thirty-one seconds, the music faded away as a female voice began to speak.

“Do not move, do not react, do not speak. They are always watching.”

Heero forced himself to relax, laying back in his chair and closing his eyes, the very picture of someone being lulled to sleep by their music.

“I’m sure you have questions,” the voice continued. “I promise, if you follow the instructions given to you, you will find the answers you need.”

The music faded back in, continuing as though never interrupted.

The playlist began the next song, and the cycle began again. Heero listened closely as each message relayed a snippet of information, useless on its own, but together, drew a far more bleak picture than he imagined.

The world was never meant to be this way. The colonies had fought for their freedom, and instead lost what little bit of it they had.

Treize won.

Heero remembered, remembered nearly dying when he stopped Libra, surviving only by sheer force of will, and an equally determined Deathscythe pilot who disobeyed orders to save his life.

In the end, it hadn’t been enough. There had been too many dolls, too many enemies. The colonies surrendered, and the Gundams and pilots retreated, disappearing without a trace.

Bounties had been placed on their heads, rewards presented for any information about their whereabouts, but for five long years, no sign of them had ever been found. 

Whispers of a resistance movement began a couple years after the surrender, whispers of an underground organization continuing the fight against OZ and Treize. It was a dangerous rumor, one that could easily get a person killed simply for speaking when the wrong person was listening.

People disappeared, then curfews were enacted, set in place under the guise of protections against a dangerous world because of the disappearances. Certain words and phrases were banned, for inciting violence in a world of peace, but still, the whispers lingered, growing stronger as more and more people joined.

Heero had only wanted to keep his head down, stay off the radar, and just live. He was tired of fighting, but this pseudo peace did nothing to ease his conscience. 

This wasn’t the peace he had fought for. When Relena had been put “under government protection”, he had almost leapt into action. Almost, but the overwhelming number of unknown factors combined with the almost guaranteed failure made him hesitant. He teetered on the brink of indecision, but in the end, his choice was taken out of his hands.

An announcement was made a few days later, declaring that Relena Peacecraft had been taken by the rebellion forces. Any information relating to her kidnapping or the Resistance who taken her carried a hefty reward.

Heero shouldn’t have felt better; she was now as much a prisoner to them as she had been with OZ.

Despite his hesitance, Heero felt the flicker of a kinship with the mysterious group. No one knew how big they were, how many members, or who ran it. They didn’t know where they were based, how they communicated or coordinated.

It was a network of ghosts.

The air went silent as the last notes of the song faded, the display highlighting the final track. He stared at the screen, debating whether he should start over when a hand snatched the device from his lap.

Heero jumped, ready to pounce on the intruder, and instead found the same girl, her expression amused as she clutched the player.

“All finished?”

Heero nodded, passing the earbuds back to her. She quickly stowed them away, then settled back in her seat, closing her eyes.

“I hope you get a chance to see The Underground,” she said quietly. “The food is amazing.”

“I’ll make sure to stop,” Heero answered.

She nodded once, then sighed, signaling the end of their short conversation.

Heero was left with his thoughts, the new information bouncing around with possible theories and motives, coupled with questions about the Resistance and his role. Every thought tangled together, creating a knot he couldn’t hope to unravel alone. 

All he could do now was wait.

There were still a few hours to go before the shuttle reached Earth. He had time to catch some sleep, before the paranoia and constant state of awareness ratcheted up to full blast.

With a sigh of his own, Heero leaned back in his seat, and fell asleep.


End file.
